


Simply Mesmerizing

by Oilan



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: 19th century science, Animal Magnetism, Canon Era, Gen, Hypnotism, Mesmerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 09:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11400123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/pseuds/Oilan
Summary: Combeferre and Joly conduct an experiment; Courfeyrac takes it upon himself to help.





	Simply Mesmerizing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eglantine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eglantine/gifts).



By no means would Courfeyrac have ever described himself as a scientific man. The studies and experiments Combeferre and Joly habitually—almost _compulsively_ —conducted were too much like schoolwork for Courfeyrac to find them appealing most of the time. He would nod politely at their enthusiastic explanations about what they were getting up to, or contribute a joke, but it was only on rare occasions that he did anything more. The effects of leeches on wounds, the joy they seemed to derive from their dissections at the medical school, and the creation of chemicals found only in _urine_ , frankly disturbed him.

Today, however, Courfeyrac was presented with something rather different. He had jauntily walked up the stairs to the first floor of the Corinthe, intent on a poor meal and a good game of billiards, but upon entering the room found himself face-to-face with a familiar, though occasionally troubling sight: Combeferre and Joly bent over a set of books and scientific publications, murmuring at each other fervently. Wholly engrossed, they did not look up to greet him when he arrived, but snippets of their conversation drifted over to where he stood.

“Puységur’s description of artificial somnambulism in his patients is particularly compelling,” Combeferre was saying, pointing out a passage in what looked like his own scribbled handwriting on a piece of scrap paper. “The state does not seem particularly difficult to induce. He writes that one merely needs to _believe_ in one’s own power to induce the state in others and hold the _desire_ to use it. Even we ourselves could learn to magnetize a person…”

Though he did not quite understand what was being said, Courfeyrac’s curiosity was piqued despite himself. Instead of wandering over to the billiard’s table, he approached his friends to see what they were doing.

At Combeferre’s words, Joly had sat straight up in his chair, enraptured. “Really? We might put together a trial ourselves, Combeferre, if that’s the case. How interesting! To be able to influence a person’s behavior by suggestion or-“

Not particularly liking the sound of this, Courfeyrac took this moment to cut in: “What’s all this?”

The other two jumped, having not noticed his presence until then.

“We were merely discussing the work that has been done on mesmerism, and how it can be applied to our studies.” Combeferre nudged a volume of _Histoire critique du magnétisme animal_ towards Courfeyrac. “You see, scientists like Mesmer, Deleuze, and Puységur studied the operation of animal magnetism on their subjects, hypothesized about the nature of the force, and even practiced their theories on people themselves.”

“In order to control their behavior?” said Courfeyrac, not without consternation. “I suppose it might be useful skill in the case of, say, misleading a gendarme when he’s asking too many questions, but otherwise…”

Combeferre smiled. “Not to worry. While I suppose one _could_ do that, the purpose is usually medicinal. Why, in one of his very first cases, Puységur was able to induce the state of artificial somnambulism so well that the patient, under his influence, was able to see the cause of his own illness and relay it to Puységur in order that it be cured.”

“I wonder if one could mesmerize _oneself_ ,” sighed Joly, almost wistfully. “Quite remarkable.”

“Isn’t it?” said Combeferre, ignoring Joly’s first point. “I’ve never seen it done, but imagine what it could mean for our medical studies if we could recreate the effects ourselves. Perhaps we could meet back here tomorrow, after asking around to see whether any of our friends would like to participate. Courfeyrac, would you-“  


“No, no,” Courfeyrac said. “Do leave me out of the fun! I’ve no interest being one of your test subjects.” He paused for a moment, before adding, against his better judgement, “But I could certainly help. Someone must keep you both out of trouble.”

“Hmm,” said Joly. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were intrigued by the idea, Courfeyrac.”

“I’m not sure it’s _me_ you should concern yourself with,” Courfeyrac replied, glancing about the room. “I wonder if Mère Hucheloup is fond of science.”

 

* * *

 

The following morning, they reconvened at the Corinthe to begin the experiment. Courfeyrac had wondered whether delaying for a night might quench the eager glint in Combeferre’s eye, but it certainly had not. Combeferre was arranging tables and chairs with the manic sort of enthusiasm that meant he had been up all night preparing. Joly, who was helping, was too caught up in his own excitement to notice. They had managed to reserve a good portion of the first floor of the wineshop as soon as it had opened, and were guaranteed to have the place more or less to themselves for the next few hours before patrons trickled in for their midday meal.

Mère Hucheloup, as it turned out, was _not_ fond of science. As soon as she caught wind of what they were doing, she had thrown up her hands and left the room, proclaiming that she would have nothing to do with their outlandish notions. Her serving-maids, however, appeared to have different opinions; Gibelotte had gathered up her broom and was repeatedly sweeping the top stair, well within listening distance of the would-be scientists, while Matelote stood above her to watch, leaning on the handrail and not bothering to look as though she was busy.

Through some strange dealing, or miracle, Combeferre had persuaded Enjolras to be their first test subject. His expression was impassive as he sat down in his designated chair, positioned facing Combeferre’s. Between them sat a table, laden with a number of props—objects such as books, pens, and paper that a magnetized person could be directed to manipulate, Joly had explained—as well as a lamp. Courfeyrac and Joly were stationed at another table to one side, Joly sitting ready to take notes.

“All right,” said Combeferre, surveying the table one last time to ensure everything was in its place, restless with excitement. “All right. Here is how we shall proceed: Enjolras, when I turn on the lamp, you are to look at its flame. Concentrate your entire mind on it, but try to relax. This should, eventually, induce a magnetized state. Are you ready?”

Enjolras made a less than enthusiastic noise of ascent, as though he was beginning to regret his decision to take part in all of this, but just as Combeferre reached over to light the lamp, Courfeyrac was struck with a question.

“Hold a moment,” he said. “How exactly are you going to test whether or not Enjolras has been magnetized?”

“If he performs all the tasks Combeferre asks of him, then surely it must have worked,” said Joly, confused.

Combeferre, however, had taken off his spectacles and was running his fingers through his hair thoughtfully, which encouraged Courfeyrac to continue: “If he is instructed to perform a task he is likely to do anyway, or at least a task he doesn’t _object_ to doing, he may be under a state of artificial som- _euh,_ whatever term you used, or he may not be. If you instruct him to do something he would _never_ do, then you would be certain your experiment was a success.”

“You are beginning to think like a scientist!” said Combeferre happily, turning to smile at Courfeyrac blearily. His hair was standing on end.

“I’m not certain I should take that as a compliment,” Courfeyrac said to Enjolras in an undertone, though Enjolras was too busy looking disconcerted at his friends’ conversation to form a reply.

Still looking pleased after having replaced his spectacles, Combeferre reached over the tabletop to ignite the lamp. Enjolras settled back in his seat to stare at the bright flame, the other three falling silent to watch him for several long minutes.

Courfeyrac found himself looking at the lamp as well, for lack of anything else to do. After a while it gave him an odd, unfocused sensation, as though the edges of his mind were beginning to blur, and he tore his eyes away from the light to observe Enjolras instead. There was no change in his countenance; his eyelids did not droop, nor he did fall into a dreamlike trance; he was merely himself, with a hard gaze and a slight crease between the brows. The procedure did not seem to be working but Combeferre, it seemed, was much too excited to be patient. He cleared his throat, ready to give his first instruction.

“Enjolras,” he said, in a clear and decisive voice. “Sing _Vive Henri IV_.”

Their friend’s gaze snapped from the lamp to Combeferre’s face, an expression of mingled surprise and offense on his own. “No!”

“But-“

Enjolras had sat back in his chair, looking around at all of them, all the props on the table, all of Combeferre and Joly’s notes littering the other, and seemed to suddenly realize to what he had agreed. Before anyone could say anything more, Enjolras rose to gather up his hat and coat.

“Enjolras, what are you-“

“I have forgotten,” Enjolras said, with a vague wave of the hand. “I must do something- It’s very important. Please excuse me.”

With that, he beat a hasty retreat. Combeferre’s shoulders slumped.

“Perhaps that was too much for even a magnetized Enjolras to bear,” mused Courfeyrac. 

“Perhaps someone more willing to actually submit to a dreamlike state would be a more suitable subject," Joly countered.

It took but a moment of pondering before Courfeyrac snapped his fingers, and leapt to his feet. “Aha! I know just the man.”

 

* * *

 

It was, perhaps, a mistake to ask Marius to the Corinthe for the sake of the experiment—particularly because Marius could not seem to decide, after being so swiftly rebuffed after his little Bonapartist outburst, whether or not he was frightened by Combeferre. Factoring in Combeferre’s current excitable, sleep-deprived state, which became only more pronounced as the day wore on, meant that disaster could very well result.

Despite all of this, Marius, to Courfeyrac’s surprise, had acquiesced to being a test subject, and Courfeyrac was not about to deprive his solitary friend from an opportunity to socialize with other people. And perhaps, thought Courfeyrac, as he directed Marius to Enjolras’ abandoned chair, this would be just the thing to tip Combeferre and Marius into a proper friendship.

Unfortunately, Courfeyrac’s optimism proved itself to be a fool’s hope almost immediately. After being instructed to sit, and then briefed about what he would have to do, Marius fiddled nervously in his chair, refusing to look at any of them. 

Combeferre frowned. “Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s only—“ Marius managed to look at him. “What are you going to ask me to do?”

“Perhaps instructing him to perform a simpler, more neutral task would yield better results,” Joly suggested in a tone of forced cheerfulness, hoping to assuage some of Marius’ worries. “Writing a phrase or opening a book—something of that nature.”

“Don’t worry,” Combeferre told Marius, smiling. Clearly, he was still too cheerful at the opportunity to attempt his experiment to let any past awkwardness get in the way. “We won’t ask anything outlandish of you.”

To Courfeyrac’s profound relief, Marius appeared to relax at these words. Perhaps acquainting Marius with the rest of the world was working, after all.

Combeferre lit the lamp and Joly began jotting down notes. Marius stared determinedly at the flame as Enjolras had, though to increase their chances of a positive result, they gave him several more minutes to become mesmerized before Combeferre inched forward in his seat to give his command, his lip twitching as though he was trying not to smile.

“Renounce Napoleon.”

“…You really are _impossible_ , Combeferre,” Courfeyrac said, shaking his head as he watched Marius flee down the stairs and out onto the streets. “I’m going to have you two be friends if it kills me.”

“I was only joking,” Combeferre huffed. “I’ve heard _you_ proclaim in the past that a good joke is the key to getting over any difficulty. It’s as if the boy has no sense of humor whatsoever.”

“Perhaps _you_ just need practice telling jokes.”

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Courfeyrac; I’ll be sure to set things right. Well. Who’s next?”

 

* * *

 

Fortunately, Marius was not the only person of their acquaintance given to daydreams.

“I had no idea such a thing even existed,” Jean Prouvaire was saying, leaning over the table and settling his unfocused gaze on the lamp’s flame. “No idea at all. How have I not heard of this, this alteration of the mind? It makes me sorry for ever scoffing at the un-Romantic nature of the sciences. Perhaps with this so-called _mesmerism_ , one can open up formerly unknown reaches of consciousness. You must take detailed notes of what I say and do when under this state, lest I forget and lose the opportunity to compose some verse about the experience…”

Prouvaire was the only other one of their friends willing to volunteer for Combeferre and Joly’s experiment. Feuilly, perhaps having received warning from Enjolras, had claimed he needed to work extra hours at the fan-making workshop, but had turned tail and hurried off in the completely wrong direction. Courfeyrac had been unable to quiet Grantaire for long enough to ask him, and Bahorel and Bossuet, to Courfeyrac’s slight consternation at being left out, were feasting at Mère Sauget’s and unwilling to leave.

It was no matter, Courfeyrac thought as he listened to Prouvaire’s hazy chatter with satisfaction. Prouvaire was willing—nay, _enthused_ —about what they were doing, and this alone should make him a ready subject, easily magnetized due to his eagerness to be so. If that failed, Courfeyrac was quite certain Prouvaire had spent the better part of the morning smoking opium. Surely, he was halfway to artificial somnambulism already.

“Hush,” said Combeferre. “You won’t be able to slip into a magnetized state if you keep speaking.” Despite his words, Combeferre seemed to share Courfeyrac’s view of the matter; though still exhausted, he looked fairly cheerful.

The minutes passed, and Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Joly watched their friend with bated breath, waiting to see whether his countenance or attitude showed signs of magnetization. Prouvaire’s gaze did not waver, but his expression did change. His brows knitted, his head tilted, and his cheeks flushed red as if he was expending a great physical effort on something.

“Jehan,” said Joly tentatively. “What are you doing?”

“I am trying to become magnetized. It is much more difficult for me than I expected. Did anyone else succeed before me? Did Enjolras?”

“You do not need to _try_ ,” Combeferre said, with a trace of impatience. “You simply drift into the altered state. Just look at the lamp and try to relax.”

Prouvaire frowned, but did as he was instructed, settling back in his chair, shoulders slumped. Satisfied, Combeferre waited several more minutes, until Prouvaire seemed completely languid, before voicing a command, his voice quiet as if he were afraid of rousing a sleeping person.

“Open that book in front of you.” 

Very slowly, Prouvaire reached up with one hand toward the copy of Cuvillers’ _Le magnétisme éclairé_ resting beside the lamp, and opened it. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Joly looked around at each other in surprise.

“All right,” said Combeferre, not quite managing to keep a tremor of excitement from his voice. “All right. Very good. Now, use that pen and paper to write your name, please.”

Prouvaire did so, writing his name with his usual large, looping cursive. As he set the pen back down, however, he cast a furtive glance at Combeferre, as if to check his reaction, and fleeting though it was, Combeferre did not miss it.

“Jehan, what are you- Are you just _pretending_ to be magnetized?” Combeferre cried, rising from his chair.

“I thought perhaps _acting_ in such a way would be the push I needed to _make_ it so,” Prouvaire said earnestly. His eyes were wide and pleading. “Perhaps by convincing the mind that something is true, that it has wandered into a particular realm of consciousness, is all that is needed. It’s a decent method, isn’t it? Please give me another chance.”

Combeferre was utterly silent and ignored his friend’s heartfelt speech in favor of marching over to sit at another table farther away to think.

 

* * *

 

"Somehow, I don’t think this is working,” said Joly, fishing a small mirror from his pocket to examine his tongue. “In fact, one might even say this whole experiment is going quite poorly.”

“One might say that, yes,” Courfeyrac answered.

Combeferre would have likely agreed as well, Courfeyrac thought, but he was presently slumped over the table at which he had been sitting after Prouvaire had left, having nodded off while rereading a portion of _Introduction pratique sur le magnétisme animal_ for renewed scientific inspiration.

Chin in hand, mulling over the failures of the day, Courfeyrac was astonished to discover how defeated he felt. Perhaps he had wanted to witness the phenomenon of mesmerization first hand even more than he had initially thought, or else had simply wanted the success of Joly and Combeferre’s experiment. He let out a sigh of profound disappointment. “Well, there’s nothing for it. We have no more friends willing to volunteer themselves.”

From behind them, near the stairs, someone cleared their throat. Courfeyrac and Joly both started, and turned in time to see Matelote step forward, a large smile on her round face. They had been so absorbed in their work they had not noticed the comings and goings of other patrons of the Corinthe, nor noticed that Matelote and Gibelotte were still quietly watching their progress.

“I can volunteer myself, Messieurs,” said Matelote, eagerly. “I won’t run off or just _pretend_ , anyhow, so maybe you will have an easier time magnetizing me. And anyway, when is the next time I will have a chance to help with something like this?” Without waiting for an answer, she walked over to the vacated subject’s chair and seated herself upon it.

“Mademoiselle, the progress of science thanks you,” Courfeyrac said, smiling at her. Behind him, Gibelotte had abandoned her pretext of sweeping the stairs in favor on perching on a table near the back of the room, her usually weary expression brightened with curiosity.

Courfeyrac took Combeferre’s vacated seat across from Matelote and lit the lamp, which was running low on oil. “I assume you know how this goes by now?”

Matelote nodded, and set herself to the task of gazing at length at the flame. A minute passed, and then another, the only sound in the room was the scratch of Joly’s pen on paper, and Combeferre’s quiet snores. Courfeyrac’s initial flare of excitement was beginning to wane has he noticed no change in her expression or attitude. Still, he was not one to give up so easily.

In order to vent some of his own frustrations from the day, Courfeyrac cleared his throat and decided his first command should be something he would very much like to do himself: “Knock that book in front of you to the ground.”

To Courfeyrac’s utter astonishment, there came a dull _thunk_ from somewhere in the room—yet Matelote had not moved. Momentarily confused, the four of them who were still conscious looked around for the source of the sound. Courfeyrac’s eyes settled on Combeferre.

Their friend was no longer slumped forward, dozing, but at the same time, he did not appear quite awake. He was sitting up, shoulders still a bit slouched, eyes half open and unfocused as though unconscious, but his face was turned towards Courfeyrac. The copy of _Introduction pratique_ lay on the floor to his right.

“Combeferre?” asked Joly, hesitatingly.

Combeferre did not say a word, nor did he move. Despite his more or less upright posture, he appeared to be in a state of deep slumber, as though sleepwalking.

Though hardly daring to believe what he was seeing, Courfeyrac’s heart was pounding with excitement. “Combeferre?” he said, taking care not to raise his voice too much, lest he break his friend’s trance. “Combeferre? Knock that pen off the table, if you please.”

There was a pen on the table next to where the book had been. With one fluid movement, Combeferre raised a hand and swept it off onto the floor.

Joly whipped around to look at Courfeyrac, all astonishment, and Courfeyrac had to try very hard to resist the urge to leap up and down with glee. He looked wildly around the room, trying to think of something else to ask Combeferre to do, to further see the workings of the bizarre state their friend was now under. He noticed Matelote, still across the table from him, watching Combeferre with utter fascination. Courfeyrac smiled.

“Matelote? When is the last time a young fellow danced with you?”

She caught on to his meaning immediately, and clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a loud laugh from escaping. “Oh. It’s been quite a while.”

“Combeferre,” said Courfeyrac, turning to his friend again. “Matelote has not been able to dance with anyone! Would you like to remedy that?”

He left the question open ended, giving the mesmerized Combeferre a chance to refuse, but without hesitation Combeferre rose and, upon turning to Matelote, gave a deep bow. Matelote responded by standing as well and dipping into the best curtsey she could manage while shaking with suppressed laughter. With that, Combeferre took her hand and lead her in a few turns about the room, sans music. The other three watched, mouths agape.

“It seems being mesmerized does not much improve one’s dancing ability,” Courfeyrac said, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh as Combeferre’s foot caught on a chair, knocking it over. Joly hummed in agreement, his pen flashing across his paper as he furiously scribbled down observations.

This might have continued indefinitely; the magnetized Combeferre seemed in no hurry to give up the waltz and Matelote, in any case, was enjoying herself immensely. Courfeyrac, however, was losing his battle not to make excessive noise. On the pair’s third pass by his chair, he could not help himself and burst into laughter, which caused Joly and even Gibelotte to quickly follow suit.

The noise seemed to jolt Combeferre out of his state of artificial somnambulism. For a moment, he stood there, obviously bewildered as to why he was standing, without remembering rising from his chair, a hand still in Matelote’s. He let go of her, taking a step backwards, and looking around at his friends.

“Well.” Combeferre adjusted his spectacles, which had slipped down his nose. “Well. Perhaps we should call it a day, hmm? I admit, I expected more from Puységur and Deleuze. Perhaps mesmerism is not all they state it to be—what a failure of an experiment!”

He gave a start, then, at his friend’s renewed peals of laughter as they leapt from their chairs and gleefully hurried to correct him.

**Author's Note:**

> Liberties were taken for the method of "magnetizing" people that Combeferre and Joly have decided to use. Mesmer, and probably Puységur, though I couldn't find an exact description of his method, used an elaborate routine that involved a lot of hand-waving and laying on of hands that could take hours. Staring at a bright object as a way to induce hypnosis was likely not done until later, but was more practical for this story.


End file.
